The Trapeze Artist
by Raggedy Hunter
Summary: February 18th. Natasha Romanoff notices a change in her partner and friend's attitude each year around this time. Despite having agreed to never read each other's files, Natasha gets Tony to let her into Barton's locked file. She learns more about this date, and Clint, than she bargained for. Rated T for swearing and mild violence.


**This is a **_**really **_**long oneshot of mine. It's mixed with comic canon, known movie canon, and my own head canons that I based on comic canon but changed to fit the storyline and all that. **

**-Raggs**

* * *

He drummed his fingers impatiently against the marble countertop, bouncing the fork in his other hand back and forth in a see-saw motion. Natasha watched the scowl on his face as the sun rose and lit the room up. Both their breakfasts, kindly made up by Pepper, who continued cooking on the opposite side of the kitchen, lay untouched.

The waffles looked nice enough: fluffy and golden with God knows what sort of exotic syrup, a thin layer of butter, a dollop of whipped cream, and a fine sprinkling of powdered sugar. Natasha generally didn't each much of the food that Stark, her teammate, provided for her. But Clint, her partner, had dug into the food without hesitation in the months since they'd taken up staying at the Avengers' tower in between their suicide missions.

Her blue eyes narrowed slightly. In the days leading up to this early morning, Clint had grown to be distant. Quiet by nature, Natasha had grown used to him not speaking unless necessary, even around her. Lacing her ankles lightly around the leg of the metallic stool she sat, and leaned forward to him.

"Clint," she said, jolting him out of his thoughts. He turned to her, sighing.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" She arched an eyebrow, searching his tired eyes.

He opened his mouth, as if to reply, but instead just stared at his friend blankly, as if shutting down. Clint blinked, a strangled breath escaping his throat, and he turned away, returning his gaze to the window.

"Clint," Natasha said firmer, putting a hand on his left arm. He began to pull away, but stopped himself, swallowing as he turned back to her.

"It's not important."

And with that, he stood and left.

Pepper sighed quietly, watching from the corner of her eye as the archer's breakfast go untouched again.

"Sorry about that," Natasha said to Pepper as she came over to collect the plate, placing it uncovered in the large fridge.

"I'm used to it," Pepper smiled, "I just wish he would eat sometimes. I'm amazed he hasn't fainted this past week, seeing as he's been eating little to nothing…"

"Yeah," Natasha said, picking up her own fork and taking small bites at a time.

Pepper hesitated, pressing her lips together, before speaking. "Do you know what's been… Wrong with him lately? The past week or so, he's been quieter than usual. And he hasn't tried to mess with Tony at all, which is kind of out of character for him."

"Yeah," Natasha sighed, taking a drink of the nearby glass of water.

"Sorry," Pepper shook her head. "I shouldn't… It's not my business, huh?" She flashed a small smile, which Natasha returned.

"It's fine. At least someone else noticed. Stark and Banner don't seem to pay much attention." Natasha looked up at Pepper. "Not to Clint, I mean. Stark does a pretty good job of paying attention to you, of course."

Pepper let out a small laugh. "Yeah, he does, as frustrating as he can be."

Natasha smiled again, hoping Pepper wouldn't noticed that she was forcing it.

_We promised we wouldn't ever read each other's, _she silently reminded herself, _but there has to be a reason for him to get like this every February… _

"I can take your plate if you'd like. I know you don't want to eat it all."

Natasha looked up to Pepper again, nodding and beginning to thank her just as Stark came into the large kitchen. The sun was completely up now, Natasha noticed, though it looked slightly distorted as the light hit the floor from the thick, soundproof windows.

"Look who's finally back to the real world," Pepper smiled, giving Stark a quick kiss as she handed him a plate of waffles and a white coffee-filled mug with the Stark Industries logo printed onto the side. Stark returned the kiss and slid into the seat that previously had been Clint's.

Natasha didn't give him a chance to speak anymore before she sprung a question on him. "You're still hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, aren't you?"

The billionaire stared at her blearily for a moment, as if taking a moment to process each word. "Uh… Yeah, I still have a few backdoors. And I'm not closing them, if that's what you're asking," he sighed groggily, blinking sleep out of his dark eyes.

"No, I actually need to use it."

Another bout of silence as he mulled her sentence over. "What for? Don't you have access anyway? Like, clearance level 87 or whatever it is?"

"Level 8," she corrected him, and he scoffed in a 'yeah whatever' sort of way.

"So _why _do you need to use my systems if you can just check it yourself?"

Natasha hesitated, glancing out the window at the orange clouds. "I don't want anyone to be able to see who was reading a certain file."

"Ooh," Stark perked up slightly, and Natasha assumed the coffee was kicking in. "Secretive agent stuff. Count me in."

"No."

Tony paused, narrowing his eyes at her. "Maybe I won't let you use my systems, then."

Pepper suddenly took a seat across from Natasha and Tony, poking his arm hard. "It's important."

"Why does she get to know?" Stark motioned at Pepper, his voice raising an octave like a whining child.

"I don't know," Pepper sighed, watching Natasha, "but you can figure that if no one can know about it, _and _she's asking for _your _help, it's probably something important."

Natasha had a feeling Pepper had guessed what she might be doing, but neither of the women said anything as Tony sighed and agreed to allow Natasha access.

"But only for an _hour,_" he said, "because I feel left out."

"And you don't like sharing," Pepper poked his ribs, and he yelped. "Stay on as long as you need, Natasha."

She nodded, smiling at Pepper. "Thank you."

Tony waved his hand at Natasha after telling Pepper he'd be right back, and the two walked to Natasha's room.

It was bland, with silvery-white walls and a floor to match. The bed was large, but made neatly with its white and silver blankets and pillows. It looked as though no one had slept on it since it was put into the room.

"Just set it up so no one will be able to track what files I'm going through," Natasha told him, watching him as he pretended to inspect her room.

"Do you even use this room, or am I just letting you take up space?"

"Because you have such a restricted amount of space, don't you?"

Stark rolled his eyes, and Natasha smirked.

A screen popped up upon Stark's request, and he hit some buttons. A familiar bird logo popped up on the screen, saying that Stark was restricted from accessing any S.H.I.E.L.D. information, but the image flickered away to show a list of folders with codes that Stark didn't recognize.

"Alright, have fun, kiddo." He narrowed his eyes, but Natasha herded him out, locking the door behind him to keep Clint from catching her.

"JARVIS?"

The AI system's voice crackled on. "Yes, Agent Romanoff?"

"Could you tell me if Agent Barton comes near this room?"

"Of course. Anything else, Agent Romanoff?"

"No. Thank you, JARVIS."

The room fell into silence, and Natasha began swiping and clicking on the screen. A list of agents in Level 8 popped up. She scrolled quickly down the list, getting to the "B" section.

_Baardsson, Baars, Babcock, Bach… _She sighed, skimming through the names.

_Barber, Baris, Barker, Barnes, Barros, Barton._

_Barton, Clinton Francis._

Natasha reached up to click on the name, but pulled back, hesitating.

_We promised not to read them, _she swallowed. _Too many problems._

She reached forward again, clicking on the name. A moment passed, and the file opened. A picture that resembled a mugshot was on the upper left-hand corner of the file. To the right of it, the information began.

_Clinton Francis Barton. Born January 7, 1971 in Waverly, Iowa, _Natasha read. _I already know that…_

She scrolled down a little, reading the beginning of his file. The information started in his childhood.

_They keep… Everything. _She arched an eyebrow, wondering how much was on her file. She had never had an interest in checking before now.

_Age five, _the file began.

* * *

"_I'll never tell you what I saw_

_Or how it made me breathe._

_I'll never repeat what I heard_

_How long it took me to leave._

_I'll never tell you what I saw_

_Or how it made my smile freeze_

_Cause this world is a whirlwind, but I'm holding that trapeze_

_And I'll never tell you what I saw"_

* * *

_February 18, 1976._

Clint sat strapped into the back of his parent's car beside his older brother, Bernard. The older of the two boys was leaned to the right with his faced pressed against the window, asleep. Clint sat silently, staring out the window. His parents spoke in hushed voices in the front seats, but Clint didn't understand most of what they were saying, and so he watched the shrubs of the countryside rush by.

"Where are we going?" Clint asked leaning forward.

His mother turned around in the passenger seat, smiling at her younger son. "I already told you, we're going to the circus the next town over."

"Why don't we just wait for it at home?"

"It isn't coming to Waverly," his mother told him, and Clint pretended to pout. She laughed kindly at him. It was a calming sound to him. Like wind chimes.

His father turned to look at him. "Are you excited, buddy?"

"Yeah!" Clint bounced in his seat, rousing Bernard.

"Mm?" The older boy looked at them blearily. "Are we there yet?"

"Not yet," his father half turned to look at them again. "In a little while."

"Okay," Bernard grinned.

Clint looked over at his brother. The two boys were three years apart. Five and eight. They wore grey t-shirts and jeans. Clint's had a bird design on it, like some sort of eagle, he thought. It never mattered to him what the bird was, but he loved the shirt. His mother had a hard time washing it because it was almost always on him.

The car swerved to the left, making Clint's stomach lurch, but he laughed anyway. Bernard's head hit their mother's seat, and he groaned. The small family took a nosedive for the ditch along the side of the road, but the semi-truck on the other side of the road clipped the back, and they whirled across the road.

Clint let out a sharp yelp as his head hit the glass of his window, shattering it. The car flipped, and his mother turned back to him, fear in her pale eyes. She tried to reach back to him, yelling that it was okay, but Clint couldn't hear her over the noise around him. Darkness consumed his vision as the roof of the car hit the asphalt with a jolt.

He blinked slowly, scrunching his eyes together when the sunlight came into view. Someone's rough hands were hooked underneath his armpits, dragging him out. Clint let out a tiny groan, wincing when he tried to move his legs. A second pair of hands lifted him up from underneath his knees, and he was placed on a thin bed. The bed was rolled away by a third person after the tiny boy was strapped into place.

Clint winced, moving his eyes to look at red semi-truck he had seen coming towards their car before. He heard the man, dressed in flannel and torn-up jeans, apologizing over and over. Clint had never heard anyone apologize more than once. He wondered what the man had done.

As he strained to look around, two other stretchers caught his eye. Clint stared at them uncomprehendingly before it hit him who the two people were. Blood streaked their faces. A huge gash made it's way down the side of his mother's face, marring her beauty and leaving her with only one clear blue eye. A black material was zipped over her face. Clint's breath caught in his throat. The same material then covered his scarred father's face. The two were rolled away.

He whimpered, his eyes searching wildly for Bernard. Clint couldn't breath. The stretcher he was restrained on jerked slightly as he was lifted into an ambulance. The younger girl who had pushed him stood above him now, along with another older man. A clear object was placed over his mouth, and he took a strangled breath.

Clint hadn't realized he had fallen asleep. The ceiling above him was white with darker flecks in each tile. He tried to sit up but whimpered. His entire body ached horribly. Turning his head, he saw Bernard to the right of him still sleeping.

"Barney?"

There was no reply.

"Barney, where are we?" Clint swallowed, staring at his brother. There were bandages wrapped across his pale forehead, covering some of his dusty brown hair.

A sharp, steady beeping accompanied the younger of the two boys' ragged breath. Clint turned to his left. A door with a rectangular window was across the room. Just when Clint decided to get up and peek out the door, the handle turned. A man in white came through the door. He had a tag clipped to his coat collar, but Clint didn't know what it said.

"Oh, good," the man smiled. "One of you is awake. My name is Dr. Gaylen. Clinton, is it?" he asked, glancing down at the clipboard he held in one arm.

Clint stiffly nodded, blinking at the man. "Uh, y-yeah."

The man's eyes flitted over to Barney, growing sad as they returned to Clint. He seemed to search the young boy's face, sadness growing in his brown eyes. Clint watched him silently.

"Is Barney okay?" Clint asked, bring his hands into his lap, fumbling with his fingers as he did when he got scared.

Dr. Gaylen sighed, staring at his clipboard for a moment. He looked like a young man. Younger than his father, at least.

"What about my dad? And my mom?"

Dr. Gaylen closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. Finally, he looked back up at Clint.

"Your brother will be fine," he smiled. "Just some minor injuries."

Clint waited.

"What about Mommy and Daddy?" Clint stared up at the doctor. "They're okay, too, right?

He already knew the answer. He had seen. Clint blinked, and his eyes burned. He began picking at the skin around his tiny fingernails.

"Clinton," Dr. Gaylen, sighed quietly, taking a seat at the edge of the five-year-old's hospital bed. "You and your family got into a car accident. Bernard and you survived, but your parents… They didn't make it."

Clint squinted at the doctor. "None of us made it. To the circus. We didn't make it there."

"No, I don't mean that," the doctor said. He blinked. "Your parents, they… They died in the accident."

A choked sound came from across the room, and Dr. Gaylen and Clint turned to see Bernard staring at them. His face, pale and sickly, contorted into a look of pure pain. Clint stared at Bernard.

"I don't get it," Clint said quietly, watching his brother crumble.

"It's okay," Dr. Gaylen said in a feeble attempt to console the ten-year-old boy.

Bernard took a ragged breath, opening his mouth as if to speak, but a second doctor, a woman, poked her head into the door before the older boy got his chance.

"Dr. Gaylen? We need you down in the ER. Another accident."

The doctor nodded to the boys, biting his lip, and followed the other doctor as she told him the damage.

The two brothers were left in silence. Clint turned back to Bernard, who stared at the floor next to Clint's bed. His dark blue eyes looked hollow.

"Barney? What does that mean?" Clint asked, tilting his head to the side.

Barney didn't answer.

"Are you okay, Barney?"

He blinked once in reply.

_March 20, 1976_

The two brothers sat in the backseats of a dusty-smelling pickup truck. The sun warmed the back of Clint's neck. He scratched at the edges of his fingernails, glancing at Barney from time to time.

They bumped along a dirt road with a social worker in the passenger seat and a kind man with laugh lines around his eyes in the driver's seat. A tall house with a pale brown fence and one very tall tree came into view over the hills as the group drove. Clint turned his attention to Barney. They were both dressed in little black suits that the both of them had yet to grow into. The brothers both smelled like flowers. Barney looked out the window, facing away from the house they were headed to. The closest town, Cedar Falls, was still visible in the distance, though it grew smaller as they approached the boys' new home.

Barney had a long pink scar from his hairline to his eyebrow. Clint had told him how cool it had made him look. Barney had stared at Clint for a long time before turning back to the window.

Clint jumped when the man driving them began speaking.

"So, boys!" he grinned at them in the rear view mirror. "Cedar Falls is the closest town, as you probably know. And this house," he said proudly, gesturing towards the two-story building, "is my home, and now yours."

"Norice's Home for Boys," the social worker, Ms. Gregory, spoke up, turning to look at the brothers, "is where you'll be staying."

She had angular features and thick-rimmed glasses that constantly slipped down the bridge of her nose. She gave the five-year-old a forced smile, which Clint timidly returned. Clint didn't like her much.

"I'm Norice, in case you didn't get that," Norice grinned in the rear view.

"Yeah, we got it," Barney said quietly.

Clint turned to watch him. His brother scowled out the window at the dusty land around their new home. Clint swallowed, watching his brother in silence until the truck eased to a stop under a tiny tree by the side of the house. Norice hopped out of the truck, ran around the front, and opened the door for Ms. Gregory.

After helping the social worker out, Norice opened the door on Clint's side of the truck, and lifted the two boys onto the rock-and-dirt driveway. Barney followed Norice to the back of the truck, pulling both his and Clint's backpacks out. He pulled one of the straps of each over his forearm, shaking his head when Norice offered to carry the bags.

"Alright, that's fine," Norice smiled, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Just be sure the lil' guy over there helps me take in these groceries."

Barney turned to Clint and motioned for him to come over. Clint hesitated for a moment before walking past Barney and to the open truck bed. Norice smiled down at him, pulling the grocery bags to the very end so that Clint could reach them. As Clint reached up to grab a bag full of cans, Norice knelt down next to him.

"Now, your name's Clint, yeah?"

Clint nodded, hefting the bag of cans off the truck.

"Well, I understand what you and your brother are going through. I know it's not easy, and you might not understand, but… I think you two will like it here. This place don't look like much, but it's not a bad place to grow up in, trust me." Norice patted Clint's shoulder, smiling so that his eyes scrunched together.

Clint smiled at him, nodding quickly, and reached up to grab a second grocery bag. Norice chuckled, grabbing the remaining several bags, and followed the younger brother into the house.

When Clint and Norice entered the house, Ms. Gregory and Barney sat on opposite ends of a dark, floral-patterned couch. The front room had a mixed smell of dust and dirty shoes, and Clint wrinkled his nose as they passed through to get to the kitchen.

The kitchen was far more pleasant. It smelled vaguely of pancakes, and what had been served for breakfast was obvious from the crumb-covered plates littered across the long dining room table. Clint pushed the grocery bags up onto the kitchen counter, picking up the cans that rolled out onto the tile floor.

"Thanks, lil' guy," Norice said, taking the now dented cans from his hands and sliding them into a cupboard. Clint stood silently in the kitchen while Norice put the groceries─milk, canned beans and vegetables, meat, soup, and bread─into their places. Clint memorized where everything was without meaning to.

Norice lumbered back into the front room, greeting Ms. Gregory and Barney.

"Well, I suppose it's about time to get you back to Cedar Falls, Ms. Gregory," Norice said, clapping his hands together.

"Yes, it is," she said flatly, eyeing Barney as she stood.

Clint wrinkled his nose at Ms. Gregory.

"You two," Norice said, turned on his heel to look at the brothers. "I'll be back in about an hour. Make yourselves at home." Norice turned to the key rack that hung beside the front door and unhooked a silver whistle. He took a breath and blew into it. The whistle emitted a strangely shrill sound that made the hair on Clint's neck stand up.

Norice stared at the ceiling just above him. It was silent for a moment, and Clint look up too, confused. Then there was a clatter. A herd of footsteps suddenly began to clamor around. Turning around, Clint saw the first pair of feet hit the top step of the stairs.

A tall, lanky boy with dark hair and green eyes barreled down the stairs. He looked to be about 15, and was followed shortly by two other boys, twins with white-blond hair. After them came five more boys: a short red-headed kid with freckles who looked maybe 13, two brown-haired boys who were both taller than the first, a blond boy the same height as Barney, and finally, a smaller kid with short brown hair and a scarred face.

"Boys," Norice said firmly, "Clint and Bernard are going to be living here. I'll be back soon, so make them feel welcome."

The group of mismatched boys nodded quickly, swarming around the brothers once Ms. Gregory and Norice were out the door.

Clint heard the truck start up outside and crawl it's way down the dirt driveway.

"Nice scar," the first boy said to Barney. Clint's brother scowled, turning away from the green-eyed boy.

"Alright, then. Well, I'm Leven, and these two," he motioned to the twins, "are Aaron and Felix."

The twins waved.

"I'm Robert," the red-haired boy piped up.

"This is Dakota," one of the brown-haired boys said. "I'm Damon."

Dakota raised a half-hearted hand in greeting.

"Are you twins?" Clint asked.

Damon grinned at the youngest of the boys. "No, Dakota's two years younger."

"These last two," Leven said, waving to the blond boy and the scarred boy, "are Jack and Page."

Jack greeted Clint and Barney excitedly. Page sighed and nodded to them.

"What happened to your face?"

Page visibly froze, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth, but Leven cut him off quickly.

"It's not important. Uh, so, what are your names?" Leven smiled at the new boys.

"Bernard. This is Clint." Barney looked up at Leven.

"Nice names."

Clint thanked him, and Leven shepherded the brothers up the stairs. The rest of the boys followed quickly. They walked to the very end of the hall to a dusty, closed door. Leven opened it up. There were three beds, two of which were neatly made. The unmade bed had layers of duct tape at the foot with names scrawled across. The freshest one said "Page".

"We'll get your names on there later," Leven smiled, clapping his hands on Clint and Barney's backs.

_December 29, 1981_

Clint crawled underneath Page's old bed. The dust on the floor made it difficult for him to breath without sneezing, but he waited in silence. The door creaked open, and Clint's breath caught. Large brown shoes crept through the doorway, scuffing the wood floor beneath them. Clint's fingers trembled with anticipation. The pair of shoes came to a stop right in front of Clint's face. They turned, the toes pointing at his freckled nose.

A man's face dropped down to the floor in front of Clint, and the ten-year-old let out a yelp.

Norice reached underneath the bed, grinning, and helped Clint out. They both coughed from the clumps of dust that trailed after Clint's socks. Norice brushed the two of them off and stood.

"You still have to make your bed, Clint," he grinned.

Clint groaned, flopping backwards onto the neatly made bed. Norice sighed, sitting next to him.

"Bernard made his bed."

"_I'm _not Bernard, though," Clint argued.

Norice smiled, standing up.

"Page always made his bed."

Clint looked down at his hands, dangling his legs over the side of the bed.

Norice sighed. "I'm sorry. I know you miss him." Clint leaned over and rested against Norice for a moment before swinging off the bed and walking over to his own, his shoulders slumped.

Clint grudgingly pulled the covers into their place. Over the five years he had been at Norice's Home for Boys, Page had been the only of the other boys, aside from Leven, who had turned eighteen shortly after Clint and Barney arrived, to regularly treat him with kindness. One night he had just… disappeared, along with all of his belongings. A note was left on his pillow that Clint had the unfortunate luck to find first.

Now all Clint had left was Norice, and Barney, if you could count him. Clint's older brother, now thirteen, had become increasingly moody since they had been sent to the home. He stayed with the older boys, leaving Clint to spend all of his time alone. It wasn't ideal for Clint, who still preferred staying in the company of other people.

"Thanks, buddy," Norice smiled at Clint, patting his back once the bed was made. "You can go and play with the other kids now, if you'd like."

Clint hesitated. That was never fun, but he didn't want to make Norice feel bad. The man had already spoken to the other boys numerous times on Clint's behalf, which only led to more jeering in the youngest boy's general direction. And so Clint simply nodded, heading downstairs, closing the door behind him after casting a glance back to a smudged piece of tape at the foot of his friend's old bed.

He swung from the stair rails to the creaky wooden floor. Clint landed with a thud and ran to the door, shoving his sneakers on as he left. The sun was close the ground, and Clint figured it would be setting in about two hours. He looked around. The other boys were nowhere to be seen, so Clint jumped off the porch and ran to the tire swing. He jumped onto it, sending it spiraling around the thick tree. Twice he nearly slipped, but he caught himself, only jumping away when the tire nearly collided with the tree.

Clint landed, rolling away from the tree laughing. He sat up dizzily, watching as the swing slowly unwrapped itself from the large tree. He felt happy for about two seconds before he heard whooping in the distance. Looking past the small hills, he saw a group of boys running, chasing each other.

He thought about running back inside, but decided against it. The boys, led by the red-haired boy Robert, raced past Clint, nearly running him over. Damon and Felix followed Robert closely, kicking dirt up in their wake. Clint let out a hiss as a few stray pebbles pelted his face. Aaron and Jack followed last, skidding to a halt when they noticed Clint.

"Hey, lil' guy!" Jack greeted.

Jack and Barney had become good friends, and Jack turned out to be not much nicer than Clint's brother.

The rest of the boys had already bolted off and were growing smaller by the second as they ran through the expansive field around Norice's house.

"Where's Barney?" Clint asked, risking a look around the field. His brother was nowhere to be seen.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Inside, obviously. Been actin' weird lately. Why?"

"Oh," Clint wrinkled his nose. "I didn't see him."

"S'not like he wants to see you," Aaron muttered. Clint looked away, squinting up at the house.

"Anyway," Jack sighed, turning to check how far the other boys had gone, "we have more important things to do."

The fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds took off, sending more pebbles back at Clint. Clint stood and got ready to shout at them, but thought better of it, trudging back inside instead. He took off his shoes with a scowl, ascended the stairs with an angry grunt on each step, and walked over to his and Barney's room. The door was open a crack, and Clint heard voices.

Clint crept up to the door, careful not to let the floor creak beneath him. Once he had reached the door, he recognized Norice's and Barney's voices.

"Yeah," Barney mumbled, "whatever."

It sounded like Norice might've growled.

"He's your brother. He went through the same thing as you, and you act like he isn't here."

"Yeah, I do! I love him, whatever," Barney sighed. Clint smiled.

"Then show it!" Norice shouted. Clint shrunk back, swallowing.

"Why should I? He's just a stupid little kid!" Clint froze, his smile wavering. It sounded like Barney knocked something over, and the door flew open. Clint looked up at Barney, and his brother stared back for a moment, surprise and guilt flashing across his dark blue eyes. It disappeared almost immediately.

Barney pushed passed Clint, who stumbled aside, staring dumbfounded after his brother. He didn't realize his mouth was open or that his eyes burned until Norice knelt down and put a large arm around Clint's tiny shoulders.

"Sometimes people say things they don't mean when they get hurt," Norice murmured.

That night, Clint turned in his bed so that his back was to Barney. Clint grew curious when he heard zippers and shuffling around, but his stubborn disposition got the better of him. He jumped when a hand was put on his shoulder. Clint rolled over, rubbing his eyes, and squinted up. He could barely make out Barney's face through the darkness.

Barney stared at him, opening his mouth as if to say something. He closed his mouth, turning to look at the door, and then back to Cint.

"What?" Clint asked.

"Shh!" Barney hissed, putting a finger to his lips. "Nevermind. Just… Go to sleep."

Clint's eyes had adjusted to the blackness in his room enough to notice the backpack straps on Barney's shoulders.

"Where're you going?"

Barney hesitated, watching Clint. "Nowhere."

"Can I come?" Clint asked hopefully, starting to sit up.

"No."

Clint felt his stomach sink.

"Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you up," Barney whispered, pushing Clint back down onto his pillow. Clint's lip jutted out in a pout out of habit. The gesture had long ago lost it's effect.

"Fine," Clint grumbled quietly. "Maybe I will." And he rolled back onto his side, refusing to look at Barney.

The room went silent. After a few moments of hesitation, Clint rolled back to face Barney's bed. His heart fluttered and his stomach seemed to fall down forty flights of stairs.

Barney's things were gone. There was a folded piece of paper laid gently on his pillow.

Clint jumped out of bed, peering down the hall. Empty. He ran over to the window by Page's old bed. His view showed him the frontyard. Barney was sprinting down the long dirt driveway towards Cedar Falls.

He swallowed, looking frantically around his room. Barney was leaving. Without him. Clint wanted to follow. Barney wasn't the nicest, but the group of boys weren't exactly friendly either. But he couldn't bring himself to leave Norice. The man had been kind to the smallest of the kids for five long, tormented years. He had practically been Clint's father.

Without realizing he was doing it, Clint threw all of his belongings into his backpack. He pulled out a scrap of paper from his desk drawer and a pencil. He got ready to write something down, but stopped. Clint looked up, glancing out his window. Barney was nearly at the end of the driveway.

In scribbly writing, Clint wrote one sentence:

"I don't want Barney to be alone."

He put it on his pillow. He sneaked down the stairs. He ran down the driveway as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Barney!" Clint called, not worrying about the whine in his voice.

His brother whirled around, eyes wide. "What are you _doing?!_"

* * *

Natasha stared at the screen, jumping at a sudden banging on her door.

"Hour's up, Natasha!" Tony shouted through the locked door.

Natasha smirked when she heard Pepper shout from down the hall, "Tony!"

"What? I told her only…" His face faded down the hallway.

She waited. The hallway was silent. "I thought I told you to tell me if anyone came by, JARVIS."

"You requested that I alert you if Agent Barton comes near the door, Agent Romanoff."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." Natasha turned back to the screen, scanning through to find where she left off.

* * *

"_I'll never tell you who I loved_

_Or how they made me free_

_I'll never tell you how I slept_

_Back when I was 15_

_I thought that I could just forget_

_The bricks that have built me_

_But this world is a whirlwind and I'm holding that trapeze_

_And I'll never tell you who I loved"_

* * *

_January 17, 1982_

Nineteen days after the two brothers ran away, they found themselves sitting at the edge of a country road. The sun warmed their backs. Barney squinted down the road, raising a hand over his dark blue eyes.

"I don't see anymore cars," he sighed, standing and brushing the dirt off his pants.

Clint followed Barney's gaze as he stood. "There's like three more, though."

Barney frowned at Clint, checking again. "No, there aren't. There's nothing there. We're gonna have to walk."

"No, look," Clint pointed. A red car drove towards them, followed closely by a pickup with a hitched trailer, and a grey car farthest away..

"I don't… Oh." Barney's brow furrowed at Clint. "How could you see them? They're like, a billion miles away."

"Can't you see that far?"

"Obviously I can't." Barney held out his hand. The red car sped on by, spewing dirt and pebbles in the boys' faces. The pickup slowed to a stop. A man and a woman sat in the driver and passenger seats. The woman rolled her window down, staring at the two dirty boys on the side of the road.

"What're a couple of kids doing out here?" She asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Uh…" Clint stammered, turning to Barney, who scowled down at his younger brother before looking up at the woman.

"We're trying to get to Red Oak," Barney said, straightening himself up.

The man driving the truck peered over the edge of his companion's door. The two adults glanced at each other and then back to the boys. "Why aren't you with your parents?" He asked in a gruff voice.

Clint felt Barney flinched. The older boy's fists clenched for a moment, but he seemed to compose himself. "They're dead." The thirteen-year-old's voice was steely, and Clint swallowed, fighting the urge to back away from Barney.

The four people waited in a moment of silence before the driver finally spoke. "Hop in the bed of the truck. We'll be in Red Oak by the time the sun sets."

"Thank you," Barney nodded, leading Clint around to the back of the truck. He used the hitch of the trailer as a boost, swinging himself over the side of the truck and landing in the bed with a thud. Barney turned, reaching down to help Clint up.

Clint swallowed, aware that the two adults were eying them through the rear view mirrors. The truck started back up, and they quickly gained speed. Barney sat facing the fields, away from any oncoming cars. The two of them swayed back and forth as the truck bounced down the road. Clint tried several times to talk to Barney, but each attempt was in vain. At some point, as the sun was getting closer to the horizon, Clint decided to lay down, using his backpack as a pillow.

He awoke with a jolt. Barney was leaned over him, prodding the younger of the two boys awake.

"We're here," he grumbled, hauling himself out of the truck and reaching up to bring Clint down after him. "Thank you," Barney nodded to the two people. They nodded curtly back, watching the boys carefully. Clint turned around and saw that they were in front of a white building with even brighter white lights shining through the windows.

Barney grabbed Clint's arm, leading him away from the truck and to the building.

"What is this?" Clint asked, glancing back the the truck.

"Be quiet," Barney growled, leading Clint inside. They waited, watching as the truck drove away. No one seemed to notice them, despite the lack of people in the lobby. Barney led Clint into a bathroom, and they washed their faces off. Clint's freckles showed again, and though they were still very prominent against his fair skin, they had become increasingly pale since they'd left the home.

Once the brothers had dried their faces off, Barney snuck back into the bright hallway, fishing some quarters out of his pockets. He pushed them into a vending machine, and three water bottles fell into the opening. Barney handed one to Clint and shoved the other two into his backpack.

"Can we get food, too?" Clint asked, pointing to a vending machine full of chips and candy.

"Shh!" Barney hissed, glancing over to the receptionist. She still hadn't noticed them, or if she had, she was too interested in her phone call to care about the two boys. Barney bolted through the door with Clint in tow just as the receptionist ended her call. She yelled something at Clint and Barney, but they had already crossed the street by then, running between some buildings.

They waited with baited breath. Clint held his water bottle out to Barney, who opened it without taking his eyes off the street. Clint took a small drink and recapped the bottle, putting it into the side pocket of his backpack.

"Do you hear that?" Barney walked tentatively forward.

"What?"

"A train. Sounds like a train." Barney turned to look at Clint. "We could get farther away if we manage to hop on it."

"Where is it, though?" Clint asked, stepping beside his brother.

"Dunno," Barney trailed off, cocking his head to the side. "I think it's over that way. C'mon!"

The two of them sprinted off, and Clint struggled to keep up with Barney. Clint wasn't small for his age, but his legs were still significantly smaller than Barney's. They came to a train station after some time.

"Tons of trains. Nice," Barney panted, jumping across the tracks and plopping down on a bench. Clint followed suit, taking another drink of his water.

"How do we know which one to take?" Clint looked up at Barney.

"Uh…" Barney hesitated, looking at the parked trains. "Those probably won't be leaving for a while… Oh!" He pointed enthusiastically towards a train coming to towards the dark station.

"A… Circus train?" Clint asked, frowning at Barney.

Barney leaned forward, squinting at the far off train. "How can you tell?"

"It says so on the side," Clint leaned forward next to Barney, pointing over the railing at the train. "See? 'Carson Carnival of… Traveling… Wonders.'"

Barney watched the train for a moment. The light from the nearly empty train station finally reached the circus train, and Barney nodded. "Oh. Weird."

They sat back down on a bench, watching as the train stopped with a sigh. A few people hopped out, opening some of the cars, letting out more people. Some of the doors were closed, and others were left open as the large group of people walked away from the train stretching and talking. A few sat down on the opposite side of the platform, and Clint noticed that a few of them were watching him and Barney. He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to look at them.

Quite some time passed.

"Clint," Barney whispered, watching the train. Clint looked up at him. "If we wanna get on the train, we should do it now."

"But what if they catch us?" Clint murmured back, casting a glance over to the circus people. Some appeared to be sleeping. Others sat talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Just be careful," Barney sighed, slowly standing. Clint followed his brother off the platform, walking alongside the train. Clint looked back and saw one of the circus people, a tall man with short cropped brown hair, watching them. He looked away, but Clint watched him a moment longer before turning back to Barney. Barney hooked his hands underneath Clint's armpits and hauled him up into the train, climbing on after Clint was inside.

They looked around. The cart smelled a bit, and looked like it wasn't really used. Barney settled down immediately after slowly shutting the car door. He took a quick drink from one of the water bottles in his backpack and rolled onto his side.

Clint watched Barney's back for a while. He jumped at the sound of one of the train car doors scraping open, but he realized quickly that it wasn't their door. Once the train lurched into motion, Clint sighed and rolled onto his side, stuffing his backpack underneath his head.

_January 20, 1982_

The train car door slammed open, abruptly waking Clint up. He rolled backwards, slamming into Barney. The two brothers scrambled up, staring at the young girl and the man who stood at the entrance. Sunlight streamed in, and the girl, who looked about nineteen, jumped into the train car.

"What are your names?" She asked, standing over the two boys.

"Bernard and Clint," Barney said stiffly. Clint smacked his lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty he had become. His breath tasted stale, and his limbs felt stiff, as though he hadn't used them.

"Why are you on our train?" The man asked, hauling himself up after the girl. It was the same man from the station with cropped brown hair.

Both boys remained silent, unsure whether or not lying would be a wise option right now.

The girl studied their faces. "Runaways?"

Clint and Barney nodded slowly, watching their feet. The girl turned her head, raising an eyebrow at the man. He shrugged.

"Did you come from Red Oak?" She turned back to them.

"No," Barney replied, watching the man. "Cedar Falls."

She whistled, raising both brows as if impressed. "That's pretty far."

"Where are we?" Clint asked, swallowing.

"Denver," she replied, furrowing her brow at Clint. He looked back to his shoes.

Barney seemed to brighten. "Colorado?"

"Yeah…" the girl replied. "Why are you so excited?"

"We wanted to get away. I guess… Colorado is away, right?" Barney suddenly didn't sound too sure of himself, which surprised Clint.

"From Cedar Falls, definitely," the man said, stepping forward.

The girl turned to the man again, leaning closer to him. Clint saw her mouth move and strained his ears to hear what she said. She turned back to them before Clint could catch anything.

"I guess you're stuck with us for now, if you'd like to stay," she said, looking back and forth between Clint and Barney. Clint nodded enthusiastically. Barney hesitated, but nodded. "Cool," she said, clapping her hands together. "You two are adorable. You'll be fun to have around. I'm Marcy. I own this circus."

"You do?" Clint asked, amazed.

"Yeah," Marcy smiled, jumping out of the train car. "My dad gave it to me two years ago when I turned eighteen. Oh, this is Buck." Marcy motioned to the man, who nodded to the boys. His eyes were a murky brown colour.

"Or Trickshot, if you'd prefer," he said as he turned towards a half-assembled tent. The other circus people rushed about, setting the red-and-yellow circus tent up. Clint watched, mesmerized at the speed that they worked.

"Are you two hungry?" Marcy asked, turning to them as she walked towards the tent.

"Yeah," Barney replied. Clint nodded eagerly.

In no time at all, Marcy Carson had brought them a tray of food. Nothing special, but Clint wolfed it down. Barney picked up the remaining half of his sandwich and handed it to Clint.

"Happy late birthday," he said, finishing his food and standing. Clint thanked him quietly and ate the sandwich.

Barney stopped next to Buck, a few feet away from where Clint sat. "What can we help with?"

Buck looked at Barney for a moment, then over to Clint, before replying. "You can help set up. Care for the animals. That sort of thing." Barney looked disappointed for a moment, but he nodded and walked away to the other roustabouts to learn how to do his job.

Buck turned to Clint then and waved him over. Clint pushed the metal tray off his lap and walked over to him. "Now, Clint, is it?"

"Yeah," Clint nodded.

"You got a kinda look to you, kid. Now, you're brother is a roustabout. He's a bigger kid, big for his age. He'll be good for doing the heavy lifting and all that." Buck motioned behind him towards the now completed tent. Barney was walking with some of the other people, all younger looking. "You, though, you actually remind me of myself when I was a kid. You're what, twelve?"

"Eleven."

"Right. Clint, I'm thinkin' that, if Marcy wouldn't mind, you might be my, eh," he made several vague hand gestures, "apprentice of sorts. My trainee."

"Yeah!" Clint nodded, then he frowned. "What would I be training for?"

"Well, I told you two that you could call me Trickshot if you so chose. Trickshot is my stage name. I perform in the show. Do amazin' things with bows and arrows and all that."

"Oh. Cool. So I could do that, too?"

"Yeah, in time. You'd have to learn first, and once I think you're ready, we'll put you into the act."

_September 29, 1984_

"You ready?" Trickshot asked, turning to Clint.

Clint swallowed. "Yeah," he nodded, pulling the purple and black hoodie over his head. Clint picked up his quiver and put it on. He grabbed his bow and reached behind him, pulling the hood over him. It was black like the rest of the garment, but it had a purple, double-diamond shaped mask. He looked in the mirror before pulling the mask over. Dark freckles dotted his face, though there were far fewer than there had been before. Clint pulled the purple mask over his pale eyes.

"Looks kinda silly," he said.

Trickshot chuckled, donning his own purple-and-black uniform. His mask was not apart of a hood, but it looked the same as Clint's.

The two archers watched each other for a moment before Trickshot nodded and they picked up their recurve bows. Marcy Carson's voice echoed out of the arena, and Clint stepped behind Trickshot as they waited for their cue.

"And now, lovely citizens of San Diego, the Terrifically Talented… Trickshot!" Marcy waved her arms towards the entrance. "And introducing, his new assistant, Hawkeye!"

As Marcy spoke, Trickshot and Hawkeye entered just as they had practiced the past month. Trickshot flipped and spun into the air, narrowly dodging arrows that Clint shot at him. The audience seemed louder than usual as the two made their way to the center of the ring. Several roustabouts, including Barney, now aged fourteen, pushed the rolling targets and other gadgets onto stage.

It all became a blur. Clint's body went into autopilot for the performance, doing all of the motions with Trickshot like clockwork. The audience roared. Clint and Trickshot bowed. Marcy reentered the ring and Clint and Trickshot left.

Only once they were back in one of the dressing tents did Clint realized how hard his heart was beating. He shook his head and he pulled the uniform off, tossing it on top of the clothing rack. Clint took a deep breath, slowing his heart back to normal pace.

"Stressed?" Trickshot grinned at him. Clint nodded, giving a small smile. "Yeah," Trickshot laughed, "it's like that at first. After a while… You get used to it."

Clint heard a kind of sadness in Trickshot's voice, just like he heard in Barney's every February. He decided not to mention it.

There was a sudden movement under the table in the corner of Clint's eye. He whirled around, drawing an arrow back at the table. The blonde girl under the table shrieked, rolling out from under and towards the door. Trickshot and Clint both aimed at her. Clint held his breath as she slowly stood, arms raised in surrender. Her dirty blonde hair fell messily around her face down to her stomach. Her white t-shirt was torn and stained, as were her jeans. One of her sneakers had a hole in them.

"P-please don't shoot," she stammered, inching towards the exit.

"What are you doing in here?" Trickshot asked, eyes narrowed as he raised his bow a mite higher.

She bit her lip. "I saw the circus was here, and I th-thought I would try to s-sleep here. I can go," the girl swallowed, glancing back and forth between Clint and Trickshot. Clint lowered his bow, tilting his head to the side. Trickshot hissed at him, but Clint ignored his mentor.

"Why don't you have anywhere else to sleep?"

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated.

Clint watched her. "Did you… Run away?"

She nodded, staring at him. She was at least two years old than Clint, a year younger than Barney. A herd of feet shuffled by outside. Children giggled and shrieked as parents herded them all away.

"Show's over." Trickshot noted. "I'll go get Marcella. You two stay here," he said, pointing a finger at the girl and Clint.

The two sat down, crossing their legs. Clint laid his bow carefully in his lap, an arrow still knocked in. The girl eyed it apprehensively. "I can leave if you need." She murmured.

"Not really my choice," Clint replied. "You should probably stay, anyway. My brother and I ran away too. We've been with this circus nearly the whole year."

"Wow."

"What's your name?" Clint leaned forward, and the girl hesitated.

"Uh, Bobbi. Bobbi Morse."

"Short for Barbara?" Clint guessed.

Bobbi nodded.

Trickshot stuck his head through the entrance. "You," he jabbed two fingers in Bobbi's direction. "Marcella wants to talk."

Bobbi stood slowly and followed Trickshot out, casting a glance back at Clint as she left. The two smiled at each other shyly. Clint thought about following, but stayed where he was. He'd learned quickly not to follow Trickshot unless asked. He stood and pushed his bow and quiver onto one of the tables.

_January 7, 1986_

Clint woke to the rumbling of the train against rusty tracks. Beside him slept Bobbi, her dirty blonde hair tied into a side braid. She smiled in her sleep. Barney lay on the opposite side of the cart with two of his roustabout friends.

Bobbi's eyes blinked open. "Hi," she whispered, her eyes bleary with sleep. "Happy birthday."

Clint's stomach flipped. He had forgotten his own birthday. "Thanks, Bobbi," he grinned. They shuffled closer, sighing. Clint was now fifteen. Bobbi would be seventeen in two months.

The train suddenly lurched to a stop. Clint and Bobbi glanced at each other, then to the car door. "We can't already be there."

Barney and his friends roused on the other side of the train car. Barney grunted, standing up. He had gotten so tall since they had joined the circus. At eighteen, he towered over even the Swordsman, one of the other members of the traveling circus. Next to Trickshot, Clint and Barney fancied him as a father figure.

The man himself shoved the car doors open, grinning. "C'mon, kiddies, time to set up!"

"There's no way we're already in Madison," one of the other roustabouts, a boy Clint's age with black hair, said, squinting against the sunlight.

"We're not," the Swordsman said, helping them all jump safely out of the car. "We're stopped in Cedar falls instead. Rescheduling and all that."

Clint and Barney froze, casting glances at each other. "Cedar falls?" The older brother asked, hitting the ground beside the train with a thud.

"Yeah," the Swordsman confirmed, lifting Bobbi out of the train after Clint.

Barney swallowed, but didn't let the others see. "Where're we settin' up, then?" he asked, walking away with the Swordsman and the other two roustabouts. Clint watched the four of them walk away, the Swordsman giving them directions.

Bobbi turned to Clint. "What's wrong with Bernard? He acts like he's been here."

Clint didn't answer at first. "Yeah, we used to live here, actually."

Bobbi raised her eyebrows. "After… Your parents?"

Clint's jaw tightened. "Yeah. We lived here for a few years, and then we… Ran away. I… I hardly even remember the place now. I haven't thought about it in so long…" Clint sighed, staring over the town. In the distance, he could see a familiar house. His stomach lurched.

That night, after Clint had performed, he waited behind the tent for Barney as they planned. Families left through the front exit. The circus grounds became silent except for the few voices of tonights clean-up crew. Barney sneaked away from his friends.

"Hey," he greeted gruffly.

"Yep," Clint muttered, turning his gaze away from his brother and towards the house in the distance. A single light downstairs was on. "Let's go."

The two brothers sprinted down the dirt road towards their old home. By the time they reached it, the lights of the circus had all been turned off. Clint sighed, hoping Bobbi wouldn't realize he was gone and bring it to Marcy or Trickshot's attention. He turned back to the house. Clint and Barney took a moment to catch their breath and then walked carefully down the driveway. A chained up dog in the yard saw them and stood, it's ears pricked. It began barking shrilly, but a shout from the house silence the animal. As they approached, Clint stopped.

"The sign."

"What sign," Barney hissed.

"The sign out front. It's gone."

Barney straightened up, looking around. "Huh. Think he's still here then?"

Clint nodded, though the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise.

They crept onto the porch, wincing as the steps creaked under their combined weight. Clint and Barney walked over to the window that they remembered lead into the living room. In an old chair that Clint had learned to read in sat an older man. He sat with a book in hand and reading glasses in the other. His eyes, surrounded by crinkles from years of smiling, stared at the wall in front of the chair. They had a hollow, glassy look to them, and had it not been for the steady rise and fall of the man's chest, Clint might've thought him dead.

It was Norice. His hair was now completely silver. His smile was gone. Clint got an empty feeling from the house.

"That's why the sign isn't out anymore."

"Clint, shh!"

Norice looked up, his brow furrowed. He turned his head to the window that Barney and Clint were looking into. They duck down immediately. Barney elbowed Clint in the ribs. Clint whined, elbowing Barney back. The dog in the yard growled.

Suddenly, the front door swung open and the porch light turned on. "Who's out here?" Norice called. Clint noticed a change in his voice. It sounded the same, but it didn't feel the same. It wasn't as kind or as gentle.

Barney stood and swung himself over the porch railing Clint followed suit, only to be pulled back his ankle. He hit the wooden porch with a thud and groaned, rolling over clutching the shoulder he had landed on.

"What the hell are you doin' on my property, kid?" Norice bellow, grabbing Clint's shirt collar and hoisting him to his feet.

"Uh, uh," Clint stammered, too shocked to reply.

"Why, you─" Norice stopped. He let go of Clint's shirt, allowing Clint enough mobility to stumble backwards into the porch railing. Clint cast a glance back and saw Barney stand on the hill by the tree that used to have a tire swing. "Do I know you, boy?"

Clint stared at Norice. "I… Barney and I…"

"Barney?" Norice leaned forward, squinting at Clint's face. "Clint?"

Clint managed to nod. He saw the light from the lamp on the porch reflect off of a tear on Norice's face. "Kid, where did you two go?" The old man's voice broke.

"We… Joined a circus."

Norice pressed his lips together, studying Clint's face with a sad smile. "I thought by now you two would be dead."

"Why?" Clint squeaked, suddenly feeling very small.

"The other one… Page. He turned up dead a couple a years after you and your brother ran off." The man's words sounded choked.

Clint felt the blood run from his face. "Oh," was all he could manage. He decided not to ask any further questions.

Norice turned to the field in front of his house. The dog stood in the yard staring at the tree, it's tail raised like a flag. "Your brother out by that tree?"

"Yeah."

"Zero!" Norice called. The dog's head swiveled to look at it's master. Norice made a motion to the dog, and it lay down where it stood, glancing between Norice and the boy standing by the tree.

"How old would you two be now," Norice asked, turning back to Clint.

"Fifteen and eighteen, sir."

Norice nodded. "Why'd you come by, Clint?"

Clint hesitated. "I don't know. We had a show in town tonight. We were curious."

"Hm," Norice replied, staring at Clint.

"Why's the sign down?"

Norice turned to look at where the sign had once stood. "Norice's Home for Boys," it had read.

"Son," Norice sighed, staring out to the dark part of his property, "I was old when you two left. I'm older now, if you can't tell. Figured it best to retire."

"So no one else lives here?"

"Just me and my dog," Norice chuckled. "Sounds kinda lonely, I guess, but it's a nice change." He looked back up at Clint. "I miss it, but it's a nice change."

Clint nodded, staring at his hands.

"Clint! C'mon, they're gonna notice we're gone!" Barney called from the tree. Zero barked.

"Looks like you gotta go again." Norice waved to Barney. Clint's brother hesitated, but waved back. "You still followin' that boy?"

Clint nodded, a pit of guilt welling in his stomach.

"Hope he's bein' better to you by now. It was nice of you to come by, Clint," Norice clapped a hand on Clint's shoulder. "Come by tomorrow for a visit, okay? With Barney. I miss you boys."

"We will," Clint replied.

"Promise me."

Clint suddenly realized just how old and lonely his former caretaker had become. He fought back tears. "I promise we will, sir." Clint hugged Norice for a long moment, blinking tears back, and then he ran across the yard and to Barney. They took off towards the circus grounds.

Once they reached the circus grounds, Barney grumbled a "good night" to Clint and sprinted off towards the train. Clint stood alone in the darkness, deep in thought. The circus seemed to all be sleeping for a moment when a shadow in the tent caught Clint's eye. The only person allowed in there after shows was Marcy, and that shadow definitely didn't belong to the skinny twenty-two year old.

Clint backed up and crept over to the tent where he kept his bow. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and drew an arrow, knocking it in his bow so that he would be ready to fire. Clint crouched down, taking small steps until he was at the entrance to the tent. He pushed through the entrance, trying to let in as little light as possible so as to not alert whoever was intruding.

The figure of a large man stood near the stands, next to the ladder leading up to the tightrope. Clint pulled his bowstring back, aiming at the shadow. "Who's there?" He called out, cursing at the slight tremble in his voice.

The figure spun around, dropping a metal box. Clint's stomach lurched. That was the locked box that Marcy kept the money from each show in. Coins and bills spilled out, and the man hissed. Clint raised his bow higher up, squinting one eye shut. He let loose the arrow, but the figure side-stepped and raised his arm. A shiny object glinted in the man's hand, and Clint realized too late what it was.

Clint hissed as a sharp pain jolted through his firing arm. He looked down at the small throwing knife jutting out of his upper arm. Cursing, he slowly pulled it out, fishing around in his pockets for his pocketknife. His bow lay with a broken string on the ground. He looked up just in time to see another throwing knife hurtling towards him, and he side-stepped.

The man, seeing Clint's own knife and no exits other than the one Clint was standing in front of, took to the ladder.

_Not the smartest move, _Clint frowned. He shrugged, sprinting over to the ladder. He climbed it with ease, despite his injured arm. Bobbi, who served as an acrobat for the circus, had showed Clint how to walk on a tightrope without falling, and even if he did, there was a net beneath the rope to catch him. Looking down still made his head spin, though, so Clint looked up, focusing on catching up to the thief.

The thief turned around halfway down the rope, and Clint nearly lost his balance. In front of him stood Jacques Duquesne, the Swordsman. The man that he and Barney had come to think of as a father figure. He should've known before from the throwing knives. The swordsman had been the one to teach Clint and Barney to use and throw knives efficiently. Clint swallowed. His odds at taking this thief down had just decreased drastically.

He crept forward on the rope anyway. The Swordsman watched him with narrowed eyes, his knife ready. "Kid," he growled, "just walk away. I won't hesitate to hurt you."

"This circus is supposed to be family. We're supposed to support each other," Clint snarled in reply, twirling his pocket knife between his fingers. "Why would you steal? It'll only hurt you!"

The Swordsman chuckled, wobbling on the wire. Clint stiffened as he tried to keep his balance. He was trembling from both anger and fear. "Back away, Clinton. I will push you down."

Clint inched forward anyway, fueled by his anger. The Swordsman rushed forward, surprisingly balanced on the thin rope, and charged Clint. He brandished his knives, slicing Clint's cheek. Clint hissed, swiping out with his knife. The Swordsman growled, and Clint felt the blade connect with flesh. It was surprisingly satisfying.

Clint's satisfaction only lasted for a split second before he was falling. The distance between the rope and the net felt longer than it was. But Clint never hit the net. It was then that he remembered the net was taken down after the trapeze performance. He hit the ground with a scream and a sickening thud.

The Swordsman climbed down from the ladder, gather up the fallen money, and ran. Clint shouted after him, tears streaming his face.

He had no idea how much time passed, but it definitely felt longer than it had been.

"Clint!" A familiar voice called from the entrance. He turned, and his vision swirled. Marcy rushed forward, followed closely by Barney and Trickshot. Clint's breath rattled. All he could feel from the waist down was pain. "Oh, God…" Marcy whispered, looking at his legs. Clint tried to lift his head, but the pain kept him on the ground.

"What happened?" Trickshot demanded, kneeling down beside Clint. He reach down, rubbing the excess blood from Clint's cheek.

Clint winced, trying to gather his words. His throat felt swollen, but he managed two words. "Swordsman. Money." He pointed weakly to to corner where Marcy usually hid the cash box. Clint felt his eyes begin to burn when he saw Marcy's face fall. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His vision was faded.

"No, no, don't be," Marcy rubbed her fingers through Clint's hair. "Bernard, help me get him to the hospital. I think his legs are broken."

Barney began to walk over, and Clint lost consciousness.

_January 17, 1986_

Clint hadn't meant to break his promise. He felt horrible about it. But he couldn't walk, and that couldn't be helped. He hoped that Barney would've had the sense to tell Norice, but he doubted it. Clint just hoped that he'd get a chance to make it all up to Norice.

When he woke the first time in the hospital, he was alone. It was the middle of the night, but he panicked, worried that the circus, his family, had left without him.

The second time we woke up, Trickshot had just been leaving, but noticed Clint wake up, and he stuck around awhile longer. He assured Clint they wouldn't leave without him.

This time, Bobbi sat curled up in a chair next to his bed, asleep with her head resting on the edge. Clint watched her for a long time, listening to her breath. He leaned over, resting his head next to hers. He fell asleep like that.

The fourth time he woke up, it was the same day. Bobbi had told him ten days had passed.

"That was a pretty shitty way to end your birthday, huh?" Bobbi smiled, staring at her hands.

Clint couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, it was."

"You know, I was going to give you a gift after the show, but I couldn't find you."

A whole new wave of guilt washed over Clint.

"Where were you?"

"Visiting a friend," Clint replied. Bobbi nodded, smiling.

"Well, happy late birthday." She leaned forward and kissed him.

When Bobbi pulled away, she laughed. A smile spread across Clint's face. His presents were always late, but they always seemed to be the best. Bobbi didn't leave until a nurse and Marcy came in to tell her visiting hours were over. Clint got a kiss goodbye. He fell asleep smiling.

_March 18, 1986_

It took Clint exactly eleven weeks to recover, and even then, he had trouble walking. His legs were still stiff from the casts, but Bobbi, now seventeen, Marcy, and Trickshot had been helping him walk around better. He had missed about five performances, and would miss more while he got back into proper shape.

But those missed performances weren't what bothered him. It was that Barney hadn't visited him once in the time that he'd been in the hospital. Bobbi had been there every day that the circus wasn't performing, and Marcy came at least once a week, as did Trickshot. But Barney hadn't. In fact, no one had even mentioned Barney since Clint had gotten back. Clint hadn't even seen him.

Not until today.

Clint sat beside Bobbi, stretching his legs with a wince. "I think I should be good in a day or too," Clint insisted.

Bobbi smiled and shook her head. "Don't try to rush it."

And then Barney rounded the corner of the set up tent. He caught sight of Clint and froze as if debating whether or not to come over. Apparently he decided to, and Clint had to force himself to unflinch at the look on Barney's face.

"I need to talk to you," his nineteen-year-old brother growled. Bobbi stood with Clint, her fingers laced with his. "Alone," Barney added, staring daggers at Bobbi. She hesitated, but let go reluctantly.

"I'll be close by," she promised quietly, giving Clint a reassuring nod. Clint smiled weakly at her and limped after Barney.

Once they were on the other side of the tent, Barney stopped and whirled around to Clint. "Why the hell did you fight him?" Barney demanded.

Clint backed away when Barney's fist raised. "What do you mean?"

"Swordsman! You fought him! You could've helped him. We could've gotten part of the money!"

Clint swallowed, trying to process what his brother was saying. "You… You _want _me to steal from our _family_?"

"They are not our family, Clint!" Barney shouted, taking a step forward. Clint flinched, shutting his eyes out of reflex.

"They're a hell of a lot better than you've been!" Clint regretted it as soon as he said it. Barney's fist clocked him in the side of the head, and Clint grunted, stumbling to the side.

He saw Bobbi creeping around the tent behind Barney, but he shook his head slightly, and she backed up, still watching. In her hands she held the two metal poles that she used in her performance. Clint didn't know what she planned to do with them, but he didn't like it.

Clint scrambled away just before Barney was able to kick him. That set Bobbi off. She rushed forward, using one pole to flip herself through the air and the other as a bat. Barney grunted as the hollow metal pole connected with the back of his head with a sharp _crack_.

Bobbi spun around, pointing one of the poles at Barney in case he got up again. She nodded to Clint, who took his chance and ran towards the train. He returned to Bobbi and Barney after retrieving Marcy and Trickshot. Barney was crouched on the ground, cradling the back of his head. Clint felt sick to see his brother's dirty blond hair caked with blood, but he appreciated what Bobbi had done nonetheless.

Once Bobbi relayed the story to Marcy and Trickshot, she and Clint were shooed away.

"That was… Amazing." Clint sighed as they plopped down beside the train.

Bobbi nodded, gazing at the tent in the distance.

"How did you learn to do all of that? With the poles and everything?"

"Hm?" She glanced at him. "Oh. Yeah. The other acrobats taught me how to use them. I figured they could be fun to fight with, so I taught myself how to fight with them. Turns out I was right, though they're more effective than they are fun."

"Yeah," Clint agreed. He swallowed, following Bobbi's gaze to the tent. "What do you think they're gonna do with Barn─ Bernard?"

"Who cares," she mumbled. "He's a dick. He always has been. I don't know why you've wanted him to stick around for so long."

Clint hesitated. He found that even he didn't really understand it. "I guess he's my only family left. Blood family, I mean," he added quickly. Bobbi and the rest of the circus was his family just as much as Barney had always been, if not more so.

Bobbi wrinkled her nose. "I see you're point."

_June 20, 1989_

As it turned out, Barney was kicked out of the circus. Marcy Carson would not stand for his actions.

Clint and Bobbi, now eighteen and twenty, had long since left the circus. They still managed to keep in touch for quite some time, but the letters were rare between the two groups.

As far as Clint knew, Barney had joined the army shortly after getting kicked out. Clint hadn't heard from him since. He felt sad whenever he thought about Barney, but he didn't think about him much anymore. He found that he was happier that way.

Now, Clint and Bobbi strolled leisurely through New York, New York. Clint had a newspaper with a headline about some great inventor's son doing something undesirable (again) tucked under his arm, and a coffee in his other hand. Bobbi's arm was hooked through his, a black dufflebag hanging from her shoulder bumping between her legs. The bag held hollow, metal tubes that could snap together into long poles, a recurve bow, and a quiver filled with arrows.

Looking back on it, Clint decided that was a good thing, considering what they'd run into only minutes later.

They had been walking, admiring the buildings and watching the people of New York, when they decided to stop at the bank to get some money out for lunch. Bobbi sat in one of the waiting chairs while Clint went up to the desk to get the money out of their account. Behind him in line, a man who looked to be about ten years older than Clint stood in a black suit. He held sunglasses in one hand. The breast pocket of his suit was embroidered with a bird design. Clint dismissed the man without a thought.

Next thing he knew, he was on the ground. Two people, masked and dressed in black, stormed in, blocked off the doors, and brandished their guns at the clerks. Clint dropped to the ground and tried to crawl over to Bobbi. One of the masked men stopped him, and he silently cursed, backing up. Clint held his hands behind his head. He noticed the older man eyeing him with interest.

Clint took a deep breath as the robber closest to him stepped away to the next clerk. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. When he opened his eyes, Bobbi gave him a small nod. He returned the nod, swallowing. His heart raced, but he trusted Bobbi to take care of it. They had carried their weapons with them for this very reason.

With lightning speed, Bobbi unzipped the duffle, snapped her two poles into their full length, and took out the robber that had stayed in the front room. He stumbled back, holding head. Everyone but Clint and the man with the suit screamed. Clint thought the man might've looked impressed, but he rolled forward, pulling his recurve out of the bag with his quiver, knocked an arrow, and shot the second robber in the shoulder just as he came out of the back. The older man raised his eyebrows, nodding.

Bobbi turned to Clint, smiling. The officials arrived shortly, providing shock blankets to those they questioned after the two criminals were brought away. When Bobbi and Clint were confronted about their weapons, the man in the suit stepped forward, pulling a badge out of his suit.

"They're with me," he said, holding the badge out. It had the same bird pattern as the man's pocket.

"Is that badge supposed to mean something to me, sir?" One of the officers growled, squinting at the shiny metal.

The man leaned forward, speaking softly in the officer's ear. The officer's face pale, and he nodded quickly.

"Go on, then. You three are free to leave."

Bobbi and Clint were lead outside after putting their weapons back in the duffle.

"Sorry, but who the hell are you?" Bobbi asked, stopping Clint once they got outside.

The man sighed, turning to them. "My name is Phil Coulson," he said, giving them a light smile as he turned away, as if that was supposed to mean anything. "Follow me."

* * *

"_But if I could tell you one thing_

_I would tell you I'm not leaving_

_If I could show you one thing_

_All my mistakes have shaped me_

_Into who I am_

_And who I am just wants to make you home"_

* * *

Phil Coulson led Clint and Bobbi to a car, and somehow convinced them to get in.

The driver had taken directions from Phil Coulson and, in no time at all, they were parked in the middle of nowhere outside of a tall grey-silver building. The entire way there, Clint heard Phil Coulson talking to someone named Nick. The entire thing made Clint feel uneasy, and he reached over and squeezed Bobbi's hand. She squeezed his as they were led inside by Phil Coulson and another person in a strange black uniform with the same bird symbol on the shoulder.

Clint lost track of how many hallways he and Bobbi were practically dragged through before they reached the door that Phil Coulson was apparently looking for. The man leaned down slightly, and a red light scanned over his eyes, and the door slid open with a hiss. Phil Coulson waved them in.

Bobbi walked in first, still holding Clint's hand, and they were greeted by a man sitting behind a large desk.

"Sir," Phil Coulson greeted with a slight nod.

"Agent Coulson," the dark man greeted. "Are these the two you told me about?"

Clint noticed slight anger in his voice, but Phil Coulson seemed pretty confident.

"Yes," Phil Coulson confirmed.

The man behind the desk nodded and stood, reaching forward to shake Bobbi's and Clint's hands. "I'm Director Nicholas Fury. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.." He looked the two of them up and down. "We never let civillians in," Director Fury said with an angry glance at Agent Coulson, "but if you two are capable of what Coulson told me you are, you could be valuable."

And from that discussion, Clint and Bobbi were separated. Clint had argued vehemently, but to no avail. Bobbi kissed his forehead before he was given his bow and quiver and they were sent to what Coulson had called "testing rooms."

Clint decided very quickly that he did not like that sound of that.

Although, if was honest, it wasn't as bad as he had imagined. But it was close.

The moment he entered, Agent Coulson's voice rang out over an intercom. "State your name, please."

Clint hesitated, looking around. "Clint?"

"Full name, please. And try to be sure about it, this time," Coulson suggested.

Clint sighed, getting increasingly irritated. "Clinton Francis Barton."

"Thank you," Coulson replied. Clint could practically hear the man grinning smugly. "You've been given your weapon for this room. I believe in you and your friend's talent, but the director would like to see for himself before he recruits the two of you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Clint said to the ceiling, making a _time out _gesture. "Recruit?"

"Yes," Coulson said as if it were obvious. "To be agents of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint's brow furrowed. "Who the hell said we wanted to be recruited? And… What the hell is S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Coulson sighed. Yeah, Clint definitely didn't like this guy. _I kinda do, _he thought resentfully.

Coulson gave a quick introduction, but Clint still wasn't convinced. These people had plucked him and his girlfriend off the streets of New York, and suddenly expected them to be agents for some "top secret" organization. Clint decided they were crazy, but quickly realized that he would not be getting out of this room without doing whatever it was they expected him to do.

"Testing begins… Now," Coulson said with a cheery tone to his voice. Clint scowled, readying his bow with an arrow.

The room was about twenty feet wide and maybe one hundred feet long. Clint could see easily to the other end. An object slowly rose from the ground. Clint stared at it for a moment before realizing what it was.

A bullet whizzed by his right ear, and he felt his heart rate increase yet again. Another bullet. And another. The rate at which they were firing increased. Clint drew the arrow back and let it loose. He hit the turret right in the middle, and it shut down with a puff of smoke.

The rest of the obstacles were easy for Clint. Shooting his arrows was no problem, and after Bobbi had worked with him for years with acrobats and close-range fighting, Clint got through the test room easily.

The door at the opposite end of where he entered opened. Clint hesitated, but went through it. To his left, Bobbi was waiting. She was unharmed, though breathing heavy with her long blonde hair in a mess. She snapped her poles back into small sticks with a smile on her face.

And that pretty much made up Clint's mind.

_February 18, 1994_

For five years, Clint and Bobbi, known throughout S.H.I.E.L.D. as their old stage names Hawkeye and Mockingbird, went on missions. As time progressed, the missions got more and more dangerous, and once they were promoted to Level 5 agents, the missions only got worse.

But Bobbi still enjoyed them. Clint decided that made it okay.

The two of them crouched outside of a warehouse. A red skull with octopus arms was spraypainted on the side of the dark grey building. Clint readied his bow. He nodded to Bobbi and the other agent. They nodded back and slid down the dirt hill, guns and battle staves at the ready.

Clint squinted to his left. On the ridge opposite his, a fourth S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sat with a sniper rifle. Clint signaled to the sniper, who returned the gesture, and they sat staring at the building.

Time passed, and Clint got more and more anxious. He took a deep breath, steadying his firing arm.

Clint swallowed, aware of how bad his idea was. But he stood anyway. He had to know if Bobbi was okay. It had been hours since she and the other agent had gone in. The mission was expected to only take two hours, at the most.

Just as he started sliding down the hill, he was blinded.

* * *

"_I'll never tell you why I drive_

_Into the night and back again_

_I hardly speak of my hometown_

_My little hands in the cement_

_I'll never tell you what I saw, close the door, swallow the key _

_But this world is a whirlwind and I'm holding that trapeze_

_Yeah this world keeps on turning, love is carried in a sling_

_Yeah this world is a whirlwind and I'm holding that trapeze._

_So I'll never tell you what I saw"_

* * *

All Clint could hear was a sharp ringing. He couldn't see. His knees buckled from underneath him, and he hit the dirt. He felt a shriek rip out of his throat.

"Bobbi!" His voice was dull against the loud ringing in his ears. His vision began to clear. Clint saw his bow laying discarded next to him. "Bobbi!"

Clint's body shook with sobs as the sniper rushed down the ridge, hooking his arms around Clint's ribs and pulling him away. Clint swallowed, his throat tightening. "Bobbi."

"Hawkeye," the other agent said, dragging Clint away by his armpits. "They're gone. They're gone. We have to go."

His breath rattled in his throat. He couldn't move. He was vaguely aware of the sniper calling for help as he dragged Clint over the rough ground.

"Mockingbird and Abiteth are gone," the sniper repeated. Clint let out a choked sob, going limp. "The missions gone. They did what they had to."

Clint didn't hear anything after that. He didn't realize when a S.H.I.E.L.D. team lifted them into a quinjet. Clint drifted through the corridors of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, falling to his knees when he finally came to his senses.

Agent Coulson stood in front of him with an understanding look in his eyes. "Barton," Clint's supervisor spoke gently, "get some rest."

Clint blanked out as Coulson led him to his bunk.

_May 10, 1994_

Clint swallowed, gazing out the window. He tapped his fingers against his outer thigh nervously. He was twenty-four years old. He hadn't been to Cedar Falls, Iowa, in nine years. Since the his fifteenth birthday, the last time he had seen Norice. He wasn't sure why he had chosen to come here for his short time away from S.H.I.E.L.D., but he did.

The plane touched down, and Clint left the airport as quickly as he could. The airport wasn't too far from the edge of town, so Clint decided to walk.

His thoughts had practically carried him away as he went on to Norice's house. He wasn't even sure if Norice was still there. If he was still alive. When Clint reached the end of the long dirt driveway, he stopped. Looking down into the yard, he saw that there was no more Zero, but in his place a boulder beside a mound of dirt.

Clint walked slowly down the driveway and cut across the yard. He walked to the tree on the hill that had severed rope around the thickest branch. Underneath it, in the hardened dirt, there were countless shoeprints of all different sizes and a track from the tire being rolled away from the tree. Clint pressed his lips together.

He walked around the yard a bit before finally going up to the front porch. Clint walked slowly up the steps, frowning slightly as he reached the front door. He hesitated, but reach up and rang the doorbell. Clint waited with baited breath, wondering what he might do if someone other than Norice answered. Or no one at all.

But after a moment, an old face peered through the front window. Clint stared back at the man, and after what felt like hours of staring, recognition seemed to flare across the old man's face, and he shuffled over to the door. Norice opened the door, and Clint felt his throat swell up at the sight of his former caretaker. He was nearly unrecognizable, but Clint knew it was him. They stared at each other for a long time before they both stepped forward and wrapped their arms around each other.

"I promised," Clint managed to say through a choked laugh. He felt Norice smile against his cheek.

_August 13, 1995_

"Barton!"

Clint looked up from his bow, placing the tools he was using to modify it down on the table. Director Fury was walking towards him, looking particularly angry sporting an eyepatch. Clint didn't know how he'd gotten the injury, but it had been a nasty one. It seemed that Coulson and the agent Fury had been working with, a Level 3 named Maria Hill, were the only two other people who knew.

"Yes?"

"I have a mission for you."

Clint stood, brushing his shirt off. "What is it?"

"You're aware of Natasha Romanoff?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Natasha stopped, leaning back on her bed. She knew what happened after that. She had been there for all of it.

She swallowed, feeling her throat tighten up. She bit her lip, understanding, perhaps a bit too well, why Clint got the way he did, on February 18th.

His parents and his wife had all died right in front of him, all through some violent happening.

She frowned. She could relate to that.


End file.
